Tag Archives: #lifewithkids #sexytime #youhavetolaugh

The children have been bathed, had their teeth brushed, and been put to bed. Mommy reads them a story, confirms the nightlight is on and in working order, tucks them in, sings about 3-4 requested songs, including “Jingle Bells” (in May), and turns off the lights.

…..

Roughly 20 seconds tick by before the kids escape, complaining of severe dehydration, dire need of a potty, and/or that pesky ghost. They’re coaxed back to bed by Daddy, escape again, have lights turned on to show there are no monsters under their beds or in their closets, been read another story, escape yet again, had another few sips of water “with ice” (per their posh taste), yelled at and told to “GO TO BED ALREADY!!” and are finally, FINALLY in bed. This will last for approximately 45 minutes, when they’ll individually start sneaking into bed with you and kicking you in the back all night until you end up curled up in a fetal position in a toddler bed, crying.

On the (rare) occasion that you and your spouse still have any energy left to even think about a glass of wine, a little Marvin Gaye, and some sexy time in that ~45 minute reprieve, things can go South quickly. (No pun intended). Here are some relatable questions regarding sex with kids creeping nearby…

You’re in the middle of some alone time (finally) when there is a rattle of the locked bedroom doorknob and a tiny voice calls out, “MOMMY! My iPad isn’t working!” You respond by:

Freezing and being very, very quiet. Maybe she’ll think you two left the country…

Calling out, “Go back to your room. I’ll be there in approximately 28 seconds!” which gets you an elbow in the ribs from your husband.

Thanking God for locks on the master bedroom door, since you will not have to have an uncomfortable discussion that will scar you and your child. At least not yet.

Giving your hubs a quick kiss and saying, “Sorry, duty calls. We’ll have to try this again next year.”

You’re in the mood for some ‘bowchickawowow time’ with your spouse. You dig out the good lingerie, shake off the accumulated dust, and dab on a bit of his favorite perfume. Then:

You crawl into bed and practice your ‘come hither look’ while he showers. You fall sound asleep in just under 30 seconds.

While sexy crawling across the bed, you throw out your back. He fetches the heating pad.

As he’s licking your neck, the cat jumps on the bed and starts retching. You shove your husband out of the way and fling the cat off the bed, all seemingly in slo-mo as cat vomit arcs across the room.

You think about the fact that this is what got you in this mess in the first place. While he’s still showering, you trade the lingerie for a ratty t-shirt, yoga pants, and a good book.

You decide to try some role playing. You choose to play the role of:

A nurse. Except this reminds you that you’re out of bandaids because the kids yell “I NEED A BANDAID!” every few seconds throughout the day.

A naughty schoolgirl. Except then you want to scold yourself for backtalking and send yourself to timeout while you count to 60. This somehow kills the mood.

The President of the United States. Then your husband makes some comment about how the United States “may not being ready for a female president”. He doesn’t get sex again for four years.

A chambermaid. Because that feather duster tickles juuusssttt right and, after you’re pleasured, you can jump right back to your normal routine. As a chambermaid.

Your sexy texts look something like this these days:

“I just had my first ‘golden shower’. Not really my thing.”

“I want you”

“Oops. Hit ‘send’ too soon. I want you to pick up milk on your way home”.

“Have you seen my Spanx?”

“I am so hot and sweaty. Can’t wait for you to get home. The AC is out.”

When you were younger, poorer, and childless, your idea of a romantic getaway involved a quiet stretch of beach – saltwater, sand between your toes, and margaritas. These days, it’s:

Dear God, anywhere.

A trip to the grocery store. Alone.

2-3 hours, 4 times a year, to go out to eat for your individual birthdays, anniversary, and Valentine’s Day. On these rare occasions, you spend a portion of your time together fantasizing about running away and quoting Monty Python. “Run away! Run away!”

The car. In the garage. Booyah.

Reading a book. What did you think I meant, perv?

You used to walk around half naked as a tease. These days, when you’re partially clothed:

A child has pulled on your shirt requesting something and you haven’t yet noticed the breeze on your nipple.

A young person thought it appropriate to wipe their runny nose on your pants, which have since been discarded in the laundry room (but not replaced). How something so little creates so much snot continues to befuddle you.

You haven’t done laundry in days and you just go with the bra and random 1990’s skirt look. Which you believe might actually be hot without realizing you look like a partially clothed bag lady.

You’ve decided, “Screw laundry! We’re becoming nudists!”

Awkward things people might’ve seen if they visited unexpectedly early in your romance:

A toppled bottle of empty wine on the coffee table and two wine glasses, one cracked. (too poor to replace)

Couch cushions and pillows strewn about the living room floor.

A piece of flimsy lingerie curled in a corner, where it was thrown.

Handprints on shower doors, mirrors, and various inspired places of passion.

Awkward things people might see if they visit unexpectedly now:

A (couple) toppled bottles of empty wine on the coffee table, one cracked wine glass (too indifferent to replace), and a sturdy wine tumbler the husband has wisely switched to.

Couch cushions and pillows strewn about the living room floor.

A soiled diaper flung into the corner of the room. Bonus points for poop smeared on the wall!

Sticky handprints on virtually every surface of the house – doorknobs, mirrors, and various inspired places of perplexion.

When you were first dating, he would catch your arm as you passed by and bring it to his face to breathe you in. (*sigh). These days, his idea of a romantic gesture is to:

Nickname you “nips” when you go braless on the weekend.

Book a vacation to one of your favorite cities (Seattle) to see one of your favorite bands (Radiohead) for a guys trip WITHOUT YOU.

Come home from the gym all sweaty and, when you shoot him a withering look for leaving you alone with four kids, say “This bod is for you, babe.”

Give you a smoldering look across the living room chaos and mouth “Want to plow?”

He used to set the mood with the Isley Brothers. Now, in the midst of a sexy iPod shuffle, you might suddenly, and uncomfortably, hear:

“Sneaky Snake”, by Tom T. Hall

“Get the Sillies Out!”, from Yo Gabba Gabba

“I’m Being Swallowed By A Boa Constrictor”, which garners snickers from the husband. Who is evidently a 12-year-old.

“Dinosaurs Have Great Big FEET”, from Mother Goose Club, in which other anatomical parts are improvised inappropriately.

PDA was once a common thing in your lives. Now, your PDA is more PD-Don’t when:

You ask “Who pooped?” and he bends and starts smelling butts, including yours.

In a total mom move, you lick your finger and wipe the smudge of dried mustard off his chin.

He opens the car door for you, but then puts his hand on the top of your head and pushes you down and in so you don’t hit your head.

You say something about his cute butt, he automatically says, “Bottom. We don’t say ‘butt’.” As if you’re one of the children.

There are no right answers, and I don’t have a key to tell you how hot your limited sex life is now that you’ve created little beings. However, I can say with enthusiasm that if you are gettin’ any as a parent of young kids, you are WINNING!!